Murder in the Dog Days (Maggie Ryan) by P.M. Carlson

Author:P.M. Carlson [Carlson, P.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Mystery Company
Published: 2014-04-29T00:00:00+00:00

Holly left Gabe to write up the reports on the Knox and Carson interviews and headed through a fresh thunderstorm for Leon Moffatt’s office. It was not far from the Dulles access interchange, on the less fashionable side of a collection of low office buildings. A shiny maroon-on-buff sign that read Moffatt and Pulaski was stuck onto a gray-painted cinder-block wall next to double glass doors. Inside, the small reception area featured brown carpeting and a dramatically made-up young woman attempting to look like Raquel Welch. She was poking carefully at a typewriter keyboard, trying to keep long fingernails intact.

“I’d like to see Mr. Moffatt, please,” said Holly.

“Oh, okay. What’s it about?” Grateful to be released from her nail-threatening chore, the secretary stood up. Her slinky red blouse was slit most of the way to her belt.

“Police business.” Holly held out her ID. “I’m Detective Schreiner.”

“Oh, my God. The Blankenship thing?”

Blankenship? Holly hadn’t heard anything about Blankenship. But experience had taught her that the best reaction to unexpected information was often silence. She inclined her head but didn’t answer. The young woman knocked on the door at the back of the room and then pushed it open. “Mr. Moffatt, sir. Lady here says she’s police.” She turned back and nodded to Holly, her thick-lashed eyes wide with interest. “He says go right in.”

“Thank you, Miss—um—”

“Rosalie York.” She watched curiously as Holly entered Moffatt’s office.

Leon Moffatt was big, thick-lipped, pink as a boiled ham. He smiled quickly and offered Holly a damp hand. “Well, the police are prettier every day! How are you?”

“I’m Detective Schreiner, Mr. Moffatt. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

He looked out into the reception area, puzzled. “You here alone, Miss Shiner?”

“Yes. I’m in charge of the investigation.”

“Yeah. August, everyone on vacation, right?” He closed the door when Holly said nothing. She’d decided it would be a waste of time to tell him she was competent. Occasionally being viewed as a dumb broad had its advantages, lulling witnesses into saying more than they might to a man. But she drew the line at acting like Raquel Welch. He smiled at Holly again. “A lady detective!”

“I have a few questions for you. About Dale Colby.”

“Yes, poor guy. I’ll be glad to help you if I can.” He motioned for Holly to take the big leather chair near the desk. She sat and found herself sliding back into its depths. It had been sized for football players like Moffatt, not for women. She put her notebook on her knees and looked coldly at Moffatt until he finished examining the fit of her trousers and sat down too. She wondered what he’d think if he knew there was a .38 strapped to her ankle under the flare legs.

Interesting, wasn’t it, that he already knew that Colby was dead. Of course, by now Olivia Kerr and her buddies at the newspaper had probably phoned everyone that Dale Colby had spoken to the whole last six months.

She opened her notebook. “Now, my understanding is that Mr.

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